


Compromised

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Rape/Non-con Elements, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He coded his anger into a single burning pulse, <i>How dare you crawl through me like the lover you were and try to crack me open for what I know. I'll make you beg.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> Little piece that finally came together. Posted on the tf_rare_pairing community for the Soundwave/Prowl - information withheld prompt. Open to continuation later.

Prowl frowned at the empty docking bay of the Ark. Neatly stacked crates lined the back wall. A low, steady hum emanated from the open door. Iron shavings littered the floor, tainting the air with the scent of rust. Wings canted high in his confusion, Prowl eyed the schedule on the datapad he held. His HUD read that it was 9:42 in the local morning, March 15th by the local dating system.

The delegation would be late.

Wings fluttering, Prowl walked toward the double doors leading into the corridor, tracing the sound. He leaned through the hanger door, hoping for a welcome hint of gold, but no one walked through the cobwebs down the corridor on the other side. The taint of rust lingered in his olfactory and oral sensors. Glancing up and down the corridor, Prowl turned left and began to walk, using the datapad in his hand to cut through the wispy protein structures.

Arriving at his office still without seeing anyone, Prowl frowned at the bars blocking the door. There were no bars on his office door. He reached his free hand toward the access pad, hoping it would also lift the bars. He stopped. Wide auxiliary panels moved up and down in agitation. His HUD read 9:43. The delegation would be late. Something moved behind him. He needed to get inside. The rust hanging in the air grew stronger. He glanced over his shoulder, left wing angling down to let him see.

His shadow, thick and dark, lay on the wall behind him and moved as he did.

Prowl looked back at his barred office door. He did not need to be here. Prowl turned, choked on the oppressive taste of rust, and he walked down the corridor to the left. Again, he used his datapad to clear his path to the lift. Wings twitching faster in agitation, Prowl selected the midship deck. He looked at the inventory list on his datapad.

They needed more energon supplements. Most of the ones listed could be locally purchased, but some he would have to speak to Sideswipe about. That mech had slipped back into his old habits easily. Prowl had been grateful for his skills' more practical application.

Prowl wanted to ask Ratchet about the rust. Wheeljack kept ferrous oxide on hand for its chemical uses, but they need not have covered all the floors in it. The lift stopped on the fourth deck, and Prowl got off. Attention buried in the list, he realized only when he looked up that no one moved inside the medbay.

The light from the corridor barely penetrated a foot into the gloom.

Prowl shifted his weight uneasily. He swept a finger through the thick dust on the nearest gurney. He smelled rust here, too. Tasted it. Ratchet kept a clean office. Wings clicking rapidly in agitation, Prowl turned to face the open door. He studied the oxygen damaged walls. The Autobots had scoured the rust from the habitable portions of the ship when they had woken.

His HUD read 9:44. The delegation would be late. Prowl remembered when they had cleaned the rust. Sunstreaker had been livid about the dirt.

Prowl looked down at the datapad in his hand. The screen flickered a disciplinary report at him. Wings fluttered wildly. Irritation, now. Sideswipe knew not to rely on his good will to sneak rubber chickens into Gears' quarters. Sideswipe knew the mini-frame loathed the things after that incident in the local region called Indiana. Prowl left the medbay and turned left, heading for the lift. He would met Sideswipe in his office and put him to cleaning up in the medbay. Prowl paused, looking down the corridor.

Prowl did not need to go back to his office. He had Sideswipe's comm frequency. He had Sunstreaker's as well. They were--

Prowl looked at his shadow again, studying its position relative to the light in front of him. He looked down at Jazz's report in his hand.

No; Jazz never _filed_ reports.

His HUD read 9:45. The delegation would be late. It took fifteen minutes to walk from his office to the medical bay. Prowl had timed it many times. He should go back to the docking bay. He needed to look for something. For a hint of gold.

Prowl looked at the shadow on the wall. He tasted thick rust in his mouth.

He turned left and walked to the lift. After selecting the top floor, he looked down at the car's floor. Ironhide and the twins had thoroughly scrubbed this deck. Prowl remembered that everyone had done something to help clean when they had woken. Prowl thought, distantly, that the rust would make him gag.

He walked left down the corridor to his office from the lift. Prowl stopped and twitched his wings. He did not need to go to his office.

Prowl turned to face his shadow.

Dark and solid on the rusted walls, his shadow pulsed in time to the low hum sweeping the hallway. The shavings on the floor danced with the beat. Prowl looked down the corridor to his left. He should go to his office. The rust filled his mouth. Auxiliary panels flicking slowly, Prowl coughed. Looking to his right, he staggered and felt heavy.

The hum vibrated his whole body. A steady, pulsing beat.

Leaning on the wall against his shadow, Prowl ignored the crawling of the rusted, cobwebbed surface. Prowl looked at the datapad in his hand. He drew a finger down its edge, peeling the webs from its surface. His HUD read 9:46. The delegation would be late. Prowl looked left. He flicked his wings, tapping them in the wall.

He should go to his office. To check on the delegation.

The delegation was to meet in the docking bay. Prowl did not need to go to his office. Prowl needed to go to the docking bay. Venting hard in the rising heat, Prowl felt his intake tank roll in his body.

The rust and the pounding hum and the heat pressed on him. He had to get to his office.

No, he was certain that he needed to be in the docking bay. He took a step to the right. Agony exploded through his processor. Rust in his mouth, down his intake, choked his cry. He dropped the datapad to put his hands on the writhing walls.

Prowl needed to go to his office.

He needed to go...

He needed...

Chasing a dream of gold, Prowl took another step to the right.

_No._

Blinding light overwhelmed his single working optic. His thick, dark shadow bent over him, _plugged into him_ , and touched his face gently. Prowl arched off the surface under him and screamed obscenities around the bar between his denta. His fists pulled frantically at his chains, and his pedes, also chained, scrambled for purchase on the structure beneath him. He shook his head--

_No._

Prowl leaned against the docking bay wall unsteadily. The soft, clingy structures of the webs hid the rust he could taste all the way down his intake. Optics wide, Prowl stared morbidly at the tiny creatures beneath the webs' writhing surface. They did not belong here.

His HUD read 9:51 in the morning on the 15th of March, local time. A delegation. To the nearest regional capitol of the the native sentients. He remembered.

The delegation had been scheduled for the 10th.

Prowl stared at the tiny creatures defiling the ship's walls. As he stared, clusters formed in the wriggling mass. A large thick knot of glaring red shells twisted over and around each other. Lines and chains of inky darkness swirled and ebbed around the blot of red. Prowl bared his denta at the gleaming insects. Their metallic bodies shone in the reflection of his optics.

Where was the yellow? He had been looking...

Prowl needed to go to his office. His datapad, left on his desk, contained his schedules and notes. He could compare that to his HUD and memory files for accuracy. He made a note, while he watched the gleaming little monsters squirm under the surface of the clingy, thready smears they made to coat the rusting walls of the ship, to see Ratchet.

The low hum ground into his processor, matching the pulse of the red shelled insects twisting around one another.

It was 9:53 a.m. The delegation would be late.

Who had Prowl wanted to see?

The delegation would be late.

The rendezvous had been five days ago. The delegation had never made it.

Ratchet. Prowl had wanted to see Ratchet. But he had looked for someone else...

_No._

The gleaming red shells dissolved into agony and light once more. Prowl snarled around the bar in his denta. He knew the shadow refracted into crazed copies by the cracked lens of his single working optic. He had felt this attack on his mind before.

_No._

Firm, even pressure rubbed across his auxiliary panels, lighting every sensory node with a pleasant tingle. Low, drumming vibrations made him shiver and lean back. Appendages wrapped around his arms and legs. Slow, luxurious strokes that soothed the old aches in his cables. The drumming deepened as Prowl pressed into the frame behind his. Sharp fingers sought the complex structure of his wing joints, and Prowl shivered. Prowl knew this game.

He swallowed the taste of rust and tried not to choke.

The heated frame behind his pressed tighter. Wide hands fell to his hips and held him as the rest of the mech's exploring limbs swarmed over his frame, seeking every curve and cable that gave Prowl pleasure. Small nubs dipped into his seams. The nubs opened into grips and stroked him from the inside out. Prowl cried out, senses narrowing to the pleasure filling his processor.

The familiar hardline connection snicked into him, and the expected, gentle presence behind it flooded him, weaving tapestries of light across his sensory net. Charge and want flowed between them in an old, old dance. Mind folding into the pleasure, Prowl opened his mouth to vent hard and fast in time with his overworked cooling system.

He still tasted rust.

One of his lover's extra limbs snaked up to his face. Its grips spread across his face, tracing each plane before sliding against his lips and denta. Prowl tasted rust on the tentacle's grips when he licked them. Moaning, he pulled his head away.

The hardline connection between them deepened. Signal and current flowed back and forth, amplified, as Prowl worked free from the mech's arms to turn around. Gleaming red shells swirled and spun in a darker mass, pulling Prowl down and down as he reached up to cup his lover's jaw with both hands. He knew this face.

Time and space widened a chasm that could never be crossed again. _Soundwave!_

Gleaming and darkness filled his vision. The grips of a tentacle caressed his lips; Prowl opened them. Long fingers caressed him. He tasted rust.

Prowl knew this shadow. This wasn't his lover any longer. Soundwave had made his choices; Prowl would never open to Soundwave again.

Prowl remembered gold.

_No._

Hands caressed his chest. Charcoal and navy blue. Not black and bright yellow. His plates slid aside easily. Prowl moaned into the darkness, arching as his not-lover's hands stroked inside him. Who had he been looking for?

Prowl reached across the hardline connection.

_No!_

The rusty bar flaked more bits off into his mouth as he screamed his fury into the brilliant light glaring back his fractured lens. Prowl quickly coded through the data lines of the connectivity web across the hardline. He knew this mind.

As well as Soundwave knew him.

Prowl worked against the siren call of memory and the slipping, ticking of time. He didn't know how long Soundwave had had him. Prowl's firewalls reported damage, but they had not been breached. Glaring through a single, cracked optic over his snarl, Prowl fought Soundwave over the hardline. He coded his anger into a single burning pulse, _How dare you crawl through me like the lover you were and try to crack me open for what I know. I'll make you beg._

The charge increased and accelerated between them, volleying back and forth, as Prowl jerked and kicked against his physical bonds. He hammered back at each flush of data and memory from Soundwave, until he seized control of Soundwave's body, and cracked open his one-time lover's mind. Prowl wove himself deeper into the other's mental presence, searching. Physically frozen by his command, Soundwave struggled to push Prowl back. Prowl heard an unfamiliar voice shout, far too late.

Far too late.

The tentacle at his mouth slipped between his lips around the rusted bar in his denta. The tentacle froze as Prowl regained his control over Soundwave. Prowl found the memory cache he needed and cracked it open without care or finesse. Numbers, codes, and tactical information spilled into his processor. Current reports still flooded Soundwave's bared comm; Autobot forces were attacking. That explained Soundwave's slip.

The rising wave of charge between them crested. Energy flowed out of control and crackled across the physical hardline. Soundwave jerked and moaned harshly above him, circuitry blinded by overload. Dark hands tightened on Prowl's blessedly closed chest plate, desperate for contact.

Shunting his own charge down into Soundwave, Prowl snarled as the restraints snapped open in response to his virtual commands. He spat the rusted bar in Soundwave's face. Shoving his hand into Soundwave's internals next with every intent to hurt, Prowl tore through primary feed lines. Growling, he ripped that pitted concussion gun from his old lover's arm structures and swung it over Soundwave's head to fire at the pale shadow racing toward them. A piercing shriek ended in a clanging thud.

Soundwave moaned over him again, imprisoned by Prowl's mind. Prowl puppeted Soundwave across the hardline, forcing the mech back as Prowl fought his way upright. Agony was his world. He knew this face, knew this mech. New, unbridled fury and old, immeasurable hurt warred for dominance as Prowl pointed Soundwave's own gun at him.

_No!_

Prowl swore and slammed the gun's butt into Soundwave's head while the mech, still dominated by Prowl through the hardline, dropped helplessly. The cable ripped from Prowl's contact port as Soundwave collapsed, and Prowl cursed the new pain.

Brutal, stubborn self-hate got him off that table. Reconfiguring his energy signal and ping frequency to match Soundwave's, Prowl lurched to the door. It cost energy he didn't have, but it might get him out of this place. Prowl paused only long enough to grab the issue blaster from the mech on the floor. He hooked it to the torn structure of his hip. The map he had ripped from Soundwave's mind turned him down the right hand corridor.

Soundwave's gun rested heavily in his broken hand.

Prowl swayed. Free hand resting against the faded walls of the abandoned complex he had been brought to, Prowl felt his ventilation system run hard and fast; half of his cooling system refused to come online. The hydraulics of his legs screamed for attention. His starved intake system threatened to black him out.

Prowl put one pede in front of the other as the shouts echoed through the halls. Prowl counted himself lucky the ceilings were tall, and that he was not.

He remembered the delegation. He remembered the attack and the blast and Megatron. Prowl remembered his old lover, ignoring his promises and warnings, plug into his mind. Once Prowl had welcomed Soundwave's ability to envelop him mind, body, and spark--to cocoon him away from the world. Once.

He kept what was left of his auxiliary panels low and tight to his back. Mangled by the explosion that had begun the attack, the wing-like panels picked up little useful information, anyway. Prowl didn't like the cut in external sensory data. He liked the swell of pain signals even less. The first door he approached responded to his altered ping frequency with a signature scan, as he had expected.

It opened to his mimicry of Soundwave's energy signature. The difficulty of maintaining a differential pulse strained already ragged systems, but it kept him moving. All too soon, stomping pedes echoed in the distance, thundering closer. Calculating the best re-route, Prowl limped around a corner. He limped faster as the shouting began.

Prowl's aim had been true for the blaster's owner. Soundwave lived. Pity.

Hefting both guns now Prowl grunted in pain and moved as fast as he could through the security doors. When the first group of searchers found him, Prowl jerked Soundwave's gun up to the ceiling and fired. The section exploded, raining debris on the Decepticons. Lowering his aim, Prowl took the front runners out, and then he hurried away, leaving the chaos behind. He found the lift on the next corridor. Prowl had to input Soundwave's master code to make the lift carry him to surface. He smiled grimly to himself.

Changing his goal away from sneaking out to _punching_ out, Prow once morel ran a quick catalog of his injuries while the lift operated. Ratchet would be very angry when he assumed his alternate mode, but he could do so. Just.

The lift stalled one floor below the surface. Prowl cursed; Soundwave must have regained consciousness. The codes would no longer work, if that was so. Nor would using Soundwave's ping frequency or energy signature. Turning the blaster to the lift's ceiling, Prowl carefully shot out the corner, away from the mechanisms. After hooking his stolen weapons to his hips, Prowl had to jump to reach the hole. The construction, clearly human originally, crumpled and widened, and Prowl fell to the lift floor. The lift groaned dangerously.

His second attempt worked better. Ignoring a renewed influx of damage reminders and gasping in pain, Prowl hauled himself up. He looked up at the doors. The concussion gun would take them in one hit, but the backlash could send the lift he was on crashing downward. The blaster would take longer, and that had its own problems.

After blasting hand- and footholds into the wall and rehanging the blaster, Prowl wedged himself into his holds, then he lifted Soundwave's gun and fired. The doors exploded back, and Prowl hurriedly returned the stolen weapon to his hip before forcing his body to climb up.

Every move screamed agony through his circuits. He could not afford to stop. Prowl heard the approaching thunder of more troops. Scrambling upright in spite of his injuries, Prowl lurched into a run. He brought up Soundwave's gun for the last time, and started blasting his way through the walls.

Prowl wanted outside. Now.

He brought the blaster up, too, and fired indiscriminately on the mechs that found him. The information he had forcibly taken from Soundwave told him that the outside was only a few walls away. The file did not rate the perimeter fencing highly. Prowl's alt mode could handle it. Assuming that he could make the conversion. Prowl did not allow his tactical simulations to consider failure too closely.

Failure would almost certainly mean a return to Soundwave. Prowl did not think he could withstand a second hacking attempt.

Sunlight poured in through the dust, finally, as a perimeter wall exploded. Dropping the weapons, he climbed awkwardly over the wall debris and skidded to the ground. He forced his body to fold into his alt. Blown tires meant a severe reduction to his traction. That limited his speed and control, but it hardly mattered. The Decepticons wanted him alive, and that made his death an acceptable outcome. Not ideal, but acceptable.

Swerving around the derelict human vehicles on the asphalt outside, Prowl drove toward the fence before it completely sunk in that the jets he heard overhead weren't Decepticons. The Aerialbots.

Their fire concentrated on the other side of the complex. Prowl changed course and aimed for the extraction team that had come so late. Familiar, friendly shouts greeted his appearance. Some of the Decepticons turned to fire on him.

Prowl heard Soundwave, less with his audials than as a lilting call through his processor. The rescue party fell in behind him as he caught up to them. The pressure in his head built, and Prowl forced himself to gain more speed. Soundwave had chosen.

The line drawn; the past dead.

Jazz appeared beside him from wherever he had been skulking. The second in command silently paced Prowl for miles away from the battle. Waving his side mirror for Prowl to follow, Jazz pulled off the road.

Groaning internally, he obeyed. Prowl had, technically, been compromised, after all. Prowl did respect Jazz's abilities, at least, but Prowl did not want to stop.

Jazz unfolded himself and grinned widely down at Prowl. "Don' stand up. We might not squeeze ya back into shape. C'mere. Lemme work on that leakin' hydraulic and patch ya into my coolin' system for a few minutes., eh?"

"I will be fine running hot long enough to reach your rendezvous," Prowl said slowly. Long familiar with Jazz's field patching skills, Prowl rolled forward on his battered rims. Jazz gestured Mirage forward as the once-noble bled into existence to help lift Prowl's back end. "Prime is commanding the battle?"

"If Ratchet goes t' wailin' on my aft--"

"I will assume responsibility. If you will see that I stop leaking, that will be good enough," Prowl murmured. "The battle?"

"Right," Jazz said. "Gotta ask. How much he get?"

"He got nothing. He became distracted, as you attacked, and I took advantage. I broke his attack. My memory cores are safe. I am afraid his hardline plug has broken in place, however. It will require Ratchet to remove," Prowl said, giving up trying to get information. Prowl knew the protocol for recovered officers. He didn't have to like it. Hearing the sound of torn cloth, Prowl trained his working sensors on the pair behind him to get an idea what Jazz was doing. Mirage's dubious expression did not reassure. "Jazz?"

"Yeah?" Jazz wrapped something tightly around first one, then another busted hose.

"What are you doing?"

"Patchin' ya. All these hoses are shot, don't worry."

"You are _not_ putting duct tape on me again, are you?" Prowl demanded.

"I surely am. Calm down, will ya? It's just for a little bit. We got Skyfire en route. First Aid's on board. You'll be fine," Jazz laughed.

Prowl refrained from comment. He revised his opinion of Jazz's field patches, however. Mirage cringed as Jazz continued. In a low mutter for Prowl's benefit, Mirage said, "Well, Sunstreaker will enjoy repainting you."

"He does not enjoy the need as much as the task," Prowl replied.

"Yuck it up," Jazz said. "Pipe down, rusty bolts. We got a shuttle to catch."

Mirage hummed and gave his commander a sly look. "I believe that you are the one talking. Sir. And you shouldn't think Sunstreaker won't learn about the duct tape, you know. He's very particular about his painting surfaces."

Jazz laughed, "By the time Ratchet finishes, Prowl'll be clean."

"Still. Sunstreaker was in a terrible mood already," Mirage said.

"Do I need to address an issue?" Prowl asked pointedly.

"Certainly. Your lover is very upset," Mirage said.

"I will endeavor to calm him, then, once I am repaired," Prowl said, spark warming. The present that Prowl wanted was very much alive.

"Prowl..." Jazz began slowly, patting the last piece of tape in place. "He did plug in."

Rolling on his rims after they put him down, Prowl hesitated. "The firewalls of my tactical files held. He got nothing from me."

"A'ight. I'll leave it be until I gotta clear ya. Sorry, Prowl. Protocol." Jazz had the grace, at least, to sound apologetic.

"I know, Jazz. I want to go home now," Prowl said softly. "I want to see Sunstreaker."

"This way, mech. This way."


End file.
